


The Shadows Where We Stand, Vigilant

by HollowIsTheWorld



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, all wardens live au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowIsTheWorld/pseuds/HollowIsTheWorld
Summary: The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers. Every recruit, every ally, is needed.





	The Shadows Where We Stand, Vigilant

**Author's Note:**

> By far the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Updates will be irregular and sporadic.

“Why do you think our ancestors kept having kids?” Kelara asked. She didn’t look at Leske while she said it. The two of them were up on the roof of Leske’s sad excuse for a house, which Kelara privately thought could only really be called a shack, and that only if you were feeling generous. 

Still, he had a roof, even if he shared it with four other people. A lot of dusters couldn’t say that much. 

Leske took a swig of his ale, making a face at the taste. “Isn’t that just what ancestors do?” 

Kelara took a drink from her own bottle. It was too watered down for either of them to be likely to get drunk tonight. Still, it took the edge off. “They know the whole line is worthless. Why continue it?” She looked down at the handful of torches still burning, making Dust Town even more eerily shadowy than it usually was. “I’d never put a child into this.” 

“That is because you, my friend, are a pessimist. How many duster girls you think were supposed to be noble boys?”

“Not me. My father was casteless too. And so was yours.” 

“Maybe they were hoping for little paragon babies.” 

“They had some pretty high expectations then. Mine was gone before I could walk.”

“Well, there you go then. If you’d learned to cave people's heads in  _ before _ you learned to walk, they’d have made you a Paragon of Violence and maybe he’d still be around.” 

“I’m being serious, Leske.” 

“I know. You’re always serious. It’s not good for you. Come on, salroka. Drink.”

Kelara drank, thinking of Rica. If she got the patron Beraht was always hounding her about and ended up pregnant, what was going to happen to the kid if it was a girl instead of a boy? Kelara knew better than to hope that the patron would stick around long enough to try again. Lots of bastard nobles; not too many with older casteless siblings. And without a patron, that would be the end of Beraht, and then it would be her, Rica, and Kalah, back where they’d begun, but now with another squalling mouth to feed. 

Or maybe they  _ would  _ keep Beraht around and Kelara would keep bashing skulls in until the only sound she could hear was bone and blood crunching under metal.

Kelara shuddered and took a large enough gulp of ale that it burned her tongue and throat as it went down. “Ever think about going to the surface?” she asked.

“Course not. Lose your stone sense up there.” 

“Not sure we have any stone sense down  _ here _ . The nobles don’t seem to think we do.” 

“Like the nobles know anything about us. Besides, I’ll take the poverty-stricken dump I know rather than some poverty-stricken dump stuffed with people who could knee me in the face just by walking too close.” 

“But you don’t know that’s how it’d be up there. You’ve never been.” 

“ _ None _ of us have ever been. Casteless is bad enough, you really want to add surfacer to the list?” 

“I don’t know.” Another long drink. “I guess not.”

“Yeah, you better guess not. Besides, you wouldn’t leave your buddy Leske in this ancestors forsaken pit all by himself, would you?” 

“If I went to the surface, I’d drag you along with me.” 

Leske laughed, and Kelara knew he thought she was joking. 

She wasn’t. Leske was as much family to her as Rica, and more family than Kalah was most days. Kelara couldn’t remember the last time she’d even thought of the old woman as ‘mother’. The woman had given birth to her, and had decided to stop there. She ignored Kelara, or else informed her about what a waste of space and money and food she was, reminded Kelara that she was never going to amount to anything. As though Kelara needed to be told. One only had to look around Dust Town to see that. It was hard to believe anyone successful had  _ ever  _ come out of this cesspool; easier to believe that those someones occurred maybe once every five generations. If they were lucky. 

Blighted ancestors. She knew it was a horrible thing to think, but sometimes she wondered if maybe some of the nobles were right, and the casteless shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Anyone who willingly and knowingly put a child into this didn’t deserve to have one in the first place. 

She shook her head clear of that line of thinking. She didn’t have enough alcohol to be able to deal with it. 

It wasn’t as though she ever  _ would _ go to the surface anyway. She doubted she’d ever convince Rica and Leske to come along, and she wouldn’t leave them behind. Partly out of loyalty and partly because she lacked the spine to face the surface on her own. 

“This ale’s awful, Leske,” she said, because she needed to say  _ something _ to snap her out of her own thoughts. 

“It’s the duster special,” he said, and finished off his bottle. “Hope tomorrow’s job has a good paycheck. I’m broke again.” 

“Didn’t blow it all on this shit, did you? ‘Cause if you did, the bartender ripped you off.” 

“Maybe I’m buying my girl pretty trinkets.”

“Poor girl.” Kelara did her best to keep her tone mild, teasing. There probably wasn’t even a girl, or at least not one that Leske was attached to enough to be buying her gifts. The thought wasn’t doing much against the pangs of jealousy though. Kelara had spent the majority of their friendship trying to accept that Leske saw her as a fellow warrior rather than a pretty girl, but she wasn’t having much luck. The truly fucked up part was that, if he were anyone else, she’d have been glad of that. 

Kelara drained her bottle and handed it to Leske for disposal. She knew better than to bring a bottle of alcohol, empty or otherwise, anywhere near Kalah. At best, she’d make her mother go hunting for another bottle of her own, at worst she’d get yelled at for being selfish and not sharing with the woman who’d made the mistake of birthing her. “See you tomorrow, duster.” 

He waved and leaned back, looking up at the rock ceiling above them. A surfacer merchant had once told Kelara he couldn’t stand the sight of the rock overhead, that he always felt like it might collapse and crush him. Kelara had replied that that was a ridiculous thing to fear - it had stood this many centuries without trouble, after all - and that, at any rate, it sounded like a better thing to be afraid of than being constantly afraid of falling. At least being crushed would be over quickly. The merchant had laughed at her, and something about the laugh had sparked a curiosity in her. If it weren’t for the dark blue brand across her face she’d have been tempted to step outside, just long enough to see what all the fuss was about, but she knew the guards would never let a casteless back in again. 

Kelara slipped in her front door, shutting the door as gently as she could and willing her boots not to make too much noise against the dirty stone. Kalah was probably asleep, and the only version of Kalah that was less pleasant than the drunk version was the recently-woken-up-and-also-still-drunk version. 

Rica was asleep too, that day’s makeup smudged across her features. She must have been out late, trying to catch a patron for Beraht. Kelara’s stomach twisted as she undressed. She wasn’t exactly an eyesore, but she certainly didn’t hold a candle to her older sister. Sometimes she was grateful for that, and then she felt sick for a week. What kind of person was  _ glad _ that it was her sister who was whoring herself out? 

Kelara got into bed pulling the blankets up over her head even though it was too warm to be comfortable.  _ Be grateful for the little things _ , she told herself. That had always been Rica’s advice. There was always some way for bad things to be worse. Kelara had a tough time with the game, but at least one such thing always presented itself when she went to bed - she might be a human, or an elf. She had heard that when  _ they _ had troubles like these, those troubles would stalk them even in their sleep. Kelara, at least, was spared that.'

* * *

Rica was up before her the next morning, and Kelara stayed in bed as long as she could, listening to her sister put on her ornaments, cheap jewelry that was crafted to look expensive clinking together as she looped bracelets around her wrists and hooked earrings into place. 

Finally, Kelara took a deep breath, forced herself to accept that lying in bed wouldn’t keep morning - and with it, Beraht - from arriving, and reached for her armor. When she’d first started to do jobs for Beraht she hadn’t put the armor on until he’d ordered her out to take care of something, fooling herself into believing it wouldn’t always be some dreadful, violent errand. 

She’d gotten over that eventually. 

“Are you alright?” Rica asked, brow creasing with concern. 

Kelara had winced as she tightened the straps; the armor had fit decently when Beraht had first given it to her, but she’d put on muscle since then and now it pinched if she wasn’t careful. And sometimes even when she was. “Fine,” she said. “Just a little bit of a hangover from drinking with Leske last night.” 

She was no more hungover than she had been drunk, but Rica seemed to believe her. “Be careful about that, alright? I hate to think of you ending up like Mother.” 

Kelara hated to think about that too, though she was at least confident she’d never be treating her children the same way, since she never intended to have any. “Don’t worry. Leske and I don’t get paid enough to be alcoholics.” 

The door opened and Kelara winced, turning away and busying herself with tying her hair back. Beraht didn’t need to knock. People who put food on your table didn’t have to ask permission to come into your house and track mud on your floor. 

Kelara looked at Beraht just long enough to nod respectfully at him, then turned away again. He’d be leering at Rica, and Kelara didn’t want to see it. She’d end up feeling ill and helpless, and she felt like that often enough already. 

“Good morning, Beraht,” Rica greeted politely. “What brings you here?” 

“Well, it isn’t the company, I can tell you that,” he said gruffly. Kelara flinched; he was in a bad mood already. And Beraht’s moods rarely got better as they day went on. “Not sure which is worse, the trash in the streets or the ass-kissers in here.” 

Kelara and Rica were both quiet. Beraht didn’t want a conversation. 

Kelara finished tying her hair in place and let the rest of it drop over her shoulder. 

Beraht barked a short, rude laugh. ‘Isn’t that fancy hairstyle more suited for your sister’s face?” 

Kelara bit the inside of her cheek, hoping her cringe wasn’t too obvious. “It’s just to keep my hair out of my way,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too argumentative. “I don’t mean it to look fancy.”

“You could always just hack it off.  _ That _ would keep it out of your face.” 

Kelara’s gaze flitted to her older sister, then back down to the floor. “Yes, sir. I’ll think about it.” Her hair was her only redeemable feature, the only thing that she had gotten from her mother instead of her father, the only thing that indicated she and Rica were siblings, and she wasn’t just something Rica had dragged in off the street out of pity. She’d hack her hair off when it was that or her head. 

Beraht made a derisive noise and returned his attention to Rica. “You’re the one I’m here to talk to,” he said. “I need to warn you - I want results. Now. I can’t keep gambling on you forever, precious.” 

Kelara’s hands balled into fists and she bit her tongue almost hard enough to draw blood. Nothing good could come from mouthing off to Beraht, no matter how much she hated hearing him use that tone on her sister. 

“Please, Beraht,” Rica begged softly, “I don’t want to do this in front of my sister.” 

“Why not?” Beraht asked with a grin. Kelara thought he got off on making people uncomfortable. “She knows the slope of the land, don’t you, girl?” 

Kelara nodded, not meeting her sister’s eyes. She kept her hands close to her sides, hoping Beraht wouldn’t notice that they were shaking. “He’s right,” she agreed, feeling like a bit of her soul sloughed off as she said the words. “Whatever it takes to get out of this cesspool.” She hated Beraht, but there were no other options for people like them. There was rotting in Dust Town, and there was letting sleazes like Beraht pay for you to sleep your way up the caste system. There was nothing else, no matter what people liked to say about how anyone might turn out to be a Paragon someday. 

“Atta kid,” Beraht said in the slow, pleased tone that Kelara hated being responsible for. “See, Rica? She doesn’t need things hidden from her. Now, listen, sweetheart, I’ve been looking over my investments, and so far you’ve borne the least gold. And I don’t keep investing in things that aren’t paying me back.”

“Beraht, I-”

“I’m not interested in excuses, precious. You listen to me. You have one more week. And if you don’t have a patron by the end of it, I’m taking all these pretty decorations back,” he reached out and ran a finger along one of Rica’s earrings, “and you are right back where you started when I found you.” 

Kelara’s stomach plummeted. A week and they’d be back to seeing how many meals they could get out of one nug, back to sweeping streets and begging coins, having to watch for carta thugs every time they opened their front door-

“But I have!” Rica said, desperation tinging her words. “That is - well, I didn’t want to promise - I met someone. Maybe. It - it isn’t definitive yet, but he seemed interested. I-I’m supposed to meet him again tomorrow.” 

Beraht raised an eyebrow, and Kelara could see him wondering if Rica was stupid enough to try to lie to him. “Well, isn’t that lucky. The warning still stands, precious. It better be  _ definitive _ this time next week, or you’ll be betting all the gold you don’t have on this mysterious patron still liking you without my help. As for you, kid,” he said to Kelara, “your buddy Leske’s waiting for you outside. He has your job for the day. And you better do it right. I don’t have enough faith in your sister’s maybe-patron to let you slide for a job badly executed.” 

Kelara nodded. “Yes, sir.” She watched him leave, her knees shaking. 

Rica collapsed onto the bed. She was shaking too. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, Rica.” There wasn’t much Kelara didn’t know anyway, however much she and Rica both liked to pretend otherwise. 

“I’ve always tried though. At least I’ve kept you from buying your future with what’s between your legs.” 

Kelara refrained from wondering aloud if that was better or worse than all the blood she had on her hands. “Who’s the patron?”

Rica shook her head. “I’m afraid to jinx it. I’ll tell you once I know for sure, alright? But don’t worry about Beraht. He’s just trying to scare us.” 

“Well, it’s working.” Kelara sighed. “I’m so tired of having to kiss up to that cave tick.” Her voice went quiet as she said it, as though she was afraid Beraht might hear through the walls. 

“Our other options are worse,” Rica said grimly. 

“Just because they’re worse doesn’t mean he’s good.” 

“I know. But unless you find a way to kill every darkspawn in Thedas and become a Paragon, Beraht is all we’ve got.” 

“And someone like me could never be a Paragon.” 

“That isn’t true. There have been Paragons from the casteless before.” 

Kelara sighed. That hadn’t been what she meant. She could have been born noble caste and she still wouldn’t be worth much, though at least she’d be worthless and rich. But that wasn’t a conversation to have with Rica. “I shouldn’t keep Leske waiting. Good luck with your patron.” 

“Good luck to you too. With… whatever it is Beraht needs.” 

_ Someone dead, probably _ , Kelara thought. But just as Kelara looked away and pretended not to know Rica was putting herself out as a pretty thing for the noble caste to make stupid decisions over, Rica pretended not to know her little sister went out and put people into early graves day in and day out. 

Kelara ducked out of the room, hugging the wall as she went past Kalah to avoid attracting attention. She didn’t think she could take a threat from Beraht and a scolding from her mother in the same morning. 

“About sodding time!” Leske’s voice greeted as she stepped out the door, and her mouth began to pull into a smile at the sound. “I was starting to think I’d have to bust in. Might have interrupted your sister while she was changing. And we couldn’t have that.” He winked. 

If he had been anyone else, she would have hit him. But it was Leske, and she knew that, for all his ribald jokes, he would never actually do anything to Rica. 

Although the fact that he’d obviously rather look at her sister than at her  _ did _ sting some. But she couldn’t hold that against either of them. 

“How’s it shaking, duster?” she asked. 

He sighed melodramatically. “What can I say? No money, no girls, no place to call my own. I’ve been writing an epic poem about it. It starts ‘Oh, you’re really, really cursed to have no caste. You noble dwarves can shove it up your…’ But I… couldn’t think of a rhyme.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Kelara said with a smile. ““Caste, vast, blast…”

Leske laughed and Kelara preened. ““I’m not seeing court bard in your future either. I guess we’ll have to stick to playing heavies for Beraht.”

Kelara kicked her foot at the dirt as though she’d really thought there was some other option out there for them. “Speaking of which, what does he have us doing today?” 

“Search and discipline. Some surface merchant smuggler lost his stone sense and decided it would be a good idea to hold out on Beraht. His name’s Oskias. We’ve got orders to find him, find out exactly what he’s been holding back, and teach him a lesson for it.” 

Kelara sighed and shook her head. “How dumb do you have to be to think stealing from Beraht is a good idea?” 

“I told you last night, salroka. Lose your stone sense up there.” 

“Alright. Let’s go find the bastard and see if we can’t knock it back through his skull. Do we know where he is?” 

“Beraht just said to find him. He’s got Merchant Caste family though, so he’ll probably be near them.” 

“Beraht want him dead or just scared?” 

“Dead. Assuming he  _ is _ skimming, and Beraht’s not just getting twitchy. You know how Beraht feels about getting swindled. Thankfully, Beraht isn’t asking us to parade his head around on a silver plate today though. I don’t know where we’d get one.” 

“You’re hilarious. Come on. But promise me we’ll make sure he’s guilty before we go cracking skulls.” 

Leske shrugged. “You’ve got the mace for the cracking. We’ll prove he’s dirty if it helps you sleep at night.” 

They made their way through Dust Town, where Kelara did her best not to notice that no one wanted to make eye contact with them. People knew who they worked for. 

“Ever feel lucky looking at these poor sods?” Leske asked. “Pretty sure I saw that one camping out behind Gevast’s place last night. Least we’ve got roofs. Mine’s got a draft and it’s likely to fall on my head one of these days, but I’ve got one.” 

“Be glad we’re not on the surface,” Kelara told him, not wanting to admit that she often felt grateful looking at those who had it worse than her - when she wasn’t feeling terrified of her and Rica ending up like them, that was. “I hear water falls out of the sky sometimes up there.” 

Leske shuddered. “No wonder they don’t have any stone sense. I’d go crazy too, if shit just fell out of the air sometimes. Hey, there’s Goilinar. He’s got a good eye for being as old as dirt. Maybe he’s heard of our surfacer.” 

The old beggar looked up as Kelara and Leske approached. “Two bits for the needy?” he croaked. 

“I’m about as needy as you, old man,” Kelara told him. The Brosca family had a total of ten silvers to their name this morning, and if Kelara and Rica didn’t keep a close eye on it Kalah would toss it all away for a few bottles of cheap booze.

“You’re one of Beraht’s girls,” Goilinar said, his voice suddenly much less pathetic. “You don’t know from needy. Not yet.” 

“What do you mean?” Kelara asked, though she suspected she didn’t want to know. 

“You think Beraht’s going to want you when you’re old? Your muscles will start to go and that’ll be the end of you. You’ll be on the cleaning crews, and then you’ll be too old for that, and too old for some merchant to get babies into you, and then you’ll end up right here, watching casteless upstarts think they’re above sharing their coin with you.” 

Kelara couldn’t stand the idea of working for Beraht until she was so old she couldn’t lift a shield. What sort of life was that? And if this old man was her future…

_ One day at a time _ , she reminded herself sternly.  _ We’ve got a job to do _ . “I can spare a few bits for information, if you have it.” 

“Ooh, you drive a hard bargain, soldier,” he said condescendly. 

“Have you seen a surface merchant named Oskias?” 

“Oskias, huh? I’ve got information. I think it’s worth… let’s call it ten bits.” He grinned, and he was missing several teeth. 

A sobering idea of the future. The kind Kelara would rather pretend wasn’t waiting. “Ten bits,” she agreed, already doing the math to make sure they didn’t miss the money too much. “And you tell me everything you know.” 

He held out his hand for the bits. “Pleasure doing business with you. I saw your man at Tapster’s. They wouldn’t serve  _ me  _ the dregs of the barrel, but there was another brand there they called Oskias, and they served  _ him _ . Even called him ‘ser’.” Goilinar turned his head and spit. 

“Could you tell if he was armed?” 

“You think they let me that close? They don’t let brands in the door; they know we can’t pay. Now beat it.”

Kelara turned to Leske. “Tapster’s it is then.” 

“Waste of your money, that info. I’d have suggested Tapster’s first thing.” 

“Only because you want to get drunk, you lush.” 

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Come on, let’s go breathe some of that merchant caste air.” 

They tromped up the path towards the Commons, which got steadily easier to walk along until it turned from dirt to proper stone and they reached the steps that took them up the rest of the way. Both of them took deep breaths. It was easy to ignore the smell of waste and refuse in Dust Town, right up until you didn’t have to breathe it anymore. 

Kelara would have loved the Commons, if it weren’t for the way everyone looked at her like she was about to either go mad and kill everyone, or else walk off with every bit of merchandise in the place. The ambient noise was nice though; merchants advertising their wares and nobles gossiping about Paragons and the king and other things that were foreign to Kelara’s world. 

Tapster’s announced itself before they reached it, the drunken singing audible from three buildings away. Kelara thought the people there seemed a lot less angry than the groups of people drinking in Dust Town. They probably had less to be angry about, she supposed. One man was shouting about the Provings, though Kelara couldn’t tell if he was happy or angry about how they’d turned out. 

That was the Merchant Caste for you, she supposed. 

“This one of Beraht’s bartenders?” she asked Leske, gesturing. 

“Why do you think I’d know?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him and waited. 

Leske rolled his eyes and eyed up the bartender. “Yeah, I think so. Let’s see if he can point us towards out surfacer.” 

“No casteless,” the bartender barked when they approached before either of them could open their mouths. 

“Beraht sent us,” Leske told him. 

“Oh,” the bartender said, his voice softening and taking a step back. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. I-I’m not looking for any trouble.” 

“Is there a surface merchant named Oskias in here?” 

The bartender nodded and pointed. “Over there. He’s been on that mug for hours, but he paid up front so I’m not arguing with him. What’s he done?” 

“Upset Beraht.” 

The bartender shook his head. “Idiot. Do what you have to, I won’t call anyone. But try to keep it neat, will you? This isn’t Dust Town; the customers get upset if there’s blood all over the floor.” 

“Beraht pays people for that.” Sometimes them. Kelara hoped it wasn’t their job today; killing people was bad and cleaning up corpses was bad but cleaning up the people she’d killed herself was the worst of the lot. 

Kelara and Leske made their way to Oskias’s table. 

“How do you want to play this?” Leske asked quietly. 

“I’ll take one side and do the talking. You take the other side and make sure he doesn’t bolt.” 

“You got it.” 

They had Oskias penned in before he saw them coming. He jumped when he realized they were there and he looked up with wide, frightened eyes. Kelara’s heart sank - she’d really been hoping he’d turn out to be innocent, but he had guilt all over his face. 

“Who are you?” Oskias demanded, his voice squeaking. 

“Did you really think Beraht wouldn’t find out you were stealing from him?” Kelara asked in return. 

“I-I’m loyal to Beraht! He’s been good to me, to my family! I owe him, I know that. I don’t-” 

“Leske, search his bags.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Leske reached for the bag. 

“Wait!” Oskias protested. “I-I have some lyrium. But I-I was - I was just looking into some new investment opportunities! I was going to tell Beraht if it worked out, I swear! I’d have to be an idiot not to!”

“Suicidal, one might say,” Leske said darkly. He held up two chunks of lyrium for Kelara to see. She could see the same resignation in his eyes that she knew was in hers - Oskias was a dead man walking. 

Kelara sighed. “Sorry, Oskias,” she said, and she meant it. “But it’s you or us.” She nodded at Leske, who drew a dagger as Oskias began to get to his feet. 

“Could everyone who isn’t about to die please turn around for a moment?” Leske called. 

“I’ll give it back!” Oskias screamed. “I-I-I - Someone help!” 

The bartender turned around, apparently suddenly deaf. The other patrons kept their eyes averted too. Kelara guessed Oskias wasn’t the first duster thief to hide out in Tapster’s.  

Oskias yanked a knife from his belt and swung, making Leske hop back a step to dodge it. Kelara yanked her shield - cheap and flimsy but more than enough to block an attack from a guy like this - into place and lifted her mace. 

It only took one hit, Oskias’s face crumbling under the mace like it was made of paper. 

Kelara turned away while Leske double checked his post. “Let’s go tell the boss.” Her voice sounded dead, even to her own ears. 

When they’d walked into Tapster’s, no one had wanted to look at them because of their face brands. Walking out, the gazes were averted fearfully instead. Somehow, that seemed worse. 

Kelara and Leske made their way to Beraht’s shop without speaking. Beraht was inside - naturally - talking politics with Jarvia. Kelara made sure not to make eye contact with the woman - Beraht was a bastard but Jarvia… she was pretty sure Jarvia was just plain crazy. 

“We’ll finish talking about this later,” Beraht told Jarvia when he saw them.  _ Above our paygrade _ , Kelara thought. Most things were, of course. “About time you two showed up. What happened with Oskias?” 

“He had a side-deal going for lyrium,” Kelara said. Leske held out the lyrium nuggets. 

“Some people are slow learners,” Beraht said as he took them. “You don’t mess with me and live to tell about it. Don’t I make that clear? I thought I made that clear. Now, this was it? Guess he keeps most of his stash topside. Must not be  _ completely _ brainless. And Oskias himself?” 

“Changing the color of the tiles of Tapster’s.” 

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll send someone over there to handle the clean-up. As for you two, I have another job waiting. The Warrior Caste is hosting a Proving today for some Grey Warden looking for candidates. That’s a pretty big honor. Every fighter able to pick up a sword is down there today. That presents some unique opportunities for some acquaintances of mine.” 

“You’re betting on the fighters,” Kelara said, remembering the patron in Tapster’s who’d been talking about just that. She couldn’t imagine having enough money to be able to throw it away on things like gambling. 

“Lot of coin to be made off of it. There’s a long-shot fighting, named Everd. I have a lot of money riding on him. Some of it’s mine. Some of it belongs to other people. I expect to see my pay-off. Understand?” 

“How are we supposed to help Everd win?” People said the ancestors chose who won the Provings. Kelara wondered if the ancestors took cheating into account. 

“You find Everd, find out who he’s fighting, and win. When he goes up against Mainar, you slip this into Mainar’s water. It’ll slow him down  _ just _ enough to seal the deal for Everd. It doesn’t last long though, so don’t use it until right before the fight. You got that?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Here’s your pass to get in. Now get going. And keep in mind, I have a  _ lot _ of coin on this. The kind that makes you life look even more like chump change than usual. If Everd loses, you two and that pretty sister of yours had all better start running for the surface. Now get going.” 

They got going. 

“I’ll admit,” Leske said, when they were outside again, “I’m kind of excited. I’ve never been to a Proving before.” 

“Me neither. They’re a big honor. I hear the Princess Alathea has won every one she’s ever competed in.” 

“Course she has, she’s a sodding princess. And being named Commander pretty soon. Let’s hope  _ she’s _ not fighting today. If Beraht asks me to poison the princess I might just faint on the spot.” 

“See,  _ there’s _ something I’d pay to see. Now, what’s so special about these Grey Warden people that the Warrior Caste is all excited about showing off for them?” 

“They fight darkspawn. And they need dwarves to help them, because we’re the only ones who can tell a darkspawn from a nug. Grey Wardens are alright, for surfacers. Only ones who care about the darkspawn without the darkspawn having to show up on their doorstep.” 

“Why are they-”

“Turn around, brand. No casteless allowed.” 

They’d reached the gates of the Proving Arena. 

“I have a pass,” Kelara said, handing it over. 

The guard huffed. “Alright,” he said reluctantly, glaring at them, “go on in. But stay out of the way. The Grey Wardens don’t need an eyesore like you distracting them from the fighters they’re here to see.” 

The Proving Grounds were the grandest thing Kelara had ever seen. Great stone pillars, lit by bowls of lyrium, warriors lounging about and talking between their matches. Kelara felt a pang in her chest; surely it wouldn’t be so bad to give the casteless a chance to test their mettle in a place like this? Even against other casteless. 

“Stone’s embrace!” Leske said in a hushed, awed voice beside her, and for a moment she was surprised that he was as impressed by the scenery as she was, until he pointed and said, “That’s one of them! One of the Wardens!” 

Kelara followed his gaze, then was amazed she hadn’t noticed the man before. She knew by his height and the shape of his ears that he was human, though she’d never seen one up close before. He wore some of the nicest armor Kelara had ever seen; shining silver and blue, with a griffon across the breastplate. 

“I dare you to go over and talk to him,” Leske said, obviously distracted from the job they’d come to do. “Say, ‘Welcome to Orzammar, Warden ser. May I drink your bath water?’”

Kelara elbowed him, but… She approached the Warden cautiously. 

He nodded politely when he saw her. “Stone-met, and blessings on your house.” 

Kelara took an alarmed step backwards. The Warden frowned. “That was the proper greeting for an outsider last time I visited Orzammar. Has it changed? Or is something wrong?” 

“It was… nicer than I was expecting.” She didn’t even  _ have _ a house. Couldn’t he tell? 

“Do they say the Grey Wardens are disrespectful then?” 

Kelara shook her head. “No, ser. I just… don’t  _ have  _ a house, is all.” 

“Ah, of course. That’s what the face-brand means. I remember now.” 

“W-would you like me to leave now?” 

“I never turn down the chance to meet someone new,” he said. “I’m Duncan. I would say of the Grey Wardens, but I suspect you already worked that out.” 

“Is it true you’re here looking for recruits?” Kelara asked. 

“We are always looking for those with the courage and the skill to join our ranks. Candidates are rare, but I hope to find some here. I hope you find what you are looking for as well.” He nodded respectfully again, then walked away as someone called for his attention. Kelara stared after him, slack-jawed. 

“I can’t believe you talked to him!” Leske hissed. He sounded giddy.

Kelara smiled. That  _ had  _ been pretty brave of her. And he’d even been nice, even once he knew she was casteless! She led the way to search for Everd, her steps a little lighter as they went.

The mood lasted until they found Everd, drunker than Kelara’s mother, passed out on the floor of the room he was meant to be preparing in.

Leske cursed. “He could draw a dead man for his bout and lose, in this state! Ancestors, Beraht will kill us if we don’t fix this. He’s still mad about the time I accidentally told that barkeep Beraht had demanded free ale delivered to my door-“ He broke off from his panicked rambling, looking at her consideringly. “Hey, I just had an idea…” 

“Well? We don’t have a lot of time, Leske, what is it?” 

“Well, you’re always saying you could keep up with the Warrior Caste given the chance, right? Everd’s armor is over there and you’re about the same size…” 

Kelara stared at the chest holding Everd’s things. She’d only ever said things like that while drunk and angry. She would have to compete through the whole Proving herself to appease Beraht. Withdrawing after winning the necessary match might make someone wonder where Everd had gone, and they’d end up finding him drunk and start wondering how he’d managed to win a fight like that. And it would be a thankless job; Everd taking all the credit for any of her wins. But _she_ would know. Her and Leske would know that she was just as good - _better_ , maybe \- than the Warrior caste that was always thumbing their noses at them. 

It’d be suicide if they were caught, but it would be suicide not to try too. 

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “That’s our best chance. But… if I do this I’ll win by skill alone. I won’t use the drug.” Some sliver of pride to hold onto when she was as old as Goilinar. A memory that she’d won a match in a Proving, fair and square. She could live a long time off a memory like that. 

“You’ve got a heart of steel, salroka,” Leske said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Come on, I’ll help you strap in.” 

She changed quickly. Even though it wasn’t made for her Everd’s armor fit better than her own. And the shield, the armor, it all felt like it might actually do something to keep her from dying under an enemy’s blade. “How do I look?” she asked Leske as she pulled the helmet down. 

“Completely anonymous. Come on, you’ve got to be about to start your match.” 

The Proving announcer’s voice boomed around them, announcing that Leske was right. “Wish me luck.” 

“Good sodding luck.” 

She was careful not to speak as she made her way to the arena, her heart pounding in her ears. She only nodded to the man at the door; she imagined he’d notice a woman’ s voice coming out of the armor. 

And then she stepped into the arena, amidst deafening cheers and allowed herself to forget, just for a moment, that they weren’t really for her.

Mainar greeted her with more respect than she’d ever heard before, and she bowed her head silently in response, hoping that wouldn’t elicit suspicion. 

And then they fought. And it was  _ fun _ . Even with Beraht’s threat hanging over her head it was nice to be fighting without the knowledge that the fight had to end with her opponent dead in front of her - or her in front of him, for that matter. It was also nice to be holding a shield that didn’t creak alarmingly when something hit it. 

Mainar wielded an axe that was nearly as tall as he was, and at the first swing Kelara’s heart stuttered a bit in her chest, certain he was about to cleave her in two, but the hit rebounded off of her - Everd’s - shield. It took her a moment to remember that she was supposed to return the attack; she was busy marveling at the feeling of being protected by her armor. 

But she  _ did _ recover, and although she felt a little bruised and battered by the time Mainar toppled to the stone, it  _ was _ him that went down, not her.

There was a brief rest, a drink of water, and then another warrior was in front of her, speaking of honor and lords. 

She could have thrown the fight. She’d won the fight Beraht needed won, and there was no sense in taking more risks than necessary. 

Oh, but she wanted to know if she  _ could _ win. She  _ had  _ to know. 

And against Adalbo, she could. He was better than Mainar had been, but she was better still, protected by armor that did it’s job. Her blood was singing in her ears.  _ This _ was fighting. No wonder the Warrior Castle loved it so sodding much. This was not at all the same thing as the desperate scraps dusters had in the streets. This was something a person could do all day, every day, and then sleep easily that night. 

The Provings went on. A Silent Sister, a greater honor to fight than Kelara could ever have imagined, and an opponent she would never have dreamed she was capable of defeating. The woman went to the Stone silently and the crowd’s cheers were deafening. And then the final fight-

But the door to the arena swung open and Everd stumbled in, shouting about stolen armor. Kelara stared at him, unable to believe her luck could have turned so sour so quickly. Why hadn’t Leske kept at eye on him? Why hadn’t she thought to  _ tell _ Leske to make sure he didn’t go anywhere?

Above her, the crowd was growing steadily louder, not with cheers this time, but with muttered confusion as word passed through the stands that the man who had just come in was the man who was supposed to be doing the fighting. 

The announcer called down an order for her to remove her helmet. 

Her adrenaline was up, and so was her confidence. So was her  _ anger _ . She had won, hadn’t she? What sodding difference did a face-brand make? “I beat you!” she shouted. “I beat your warriors! I’m casteless, but I  _ beat you _ !” She threw Everd’s helmet to the ground and glared up at the stands. 

The crowd’s murmured confusion built to a furious roar. Guards spilled into the arena, cornering her. “You’ll pay for this, brand,” one of them snarled.

Kelara snarled right back at him. “I  _ won _ .” 

One of them swung his sword at her and she blocked it instinctively. She swung her mace, felt it connect, and swung it again. Hits bounced off her shield.

The rebellion didn’t last long though. One of them raised their sword and brought the hilt down on her unprotected head and the fight ended with a burst of painful darkness. 

* * *

She woke up on dirt, dressed in rags rather than fancy armor, to the sound of Leske’s voice. 

“Are you awake yet?” he whispered from somewhere she couldn’t see. “Can you hear me? How hard did they sodding hit you, anyway? Did you have to put up such a fight?” He sounded like he was half talking to himself.

“Leske?” Kelara managed with a groan. “Where are you?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. I’m in the next cell over. After they locked us in the Proving master’s booth for a while, a whole squad of guards transferred us here.”

“Where  _ is  _ here?” 

“Beraht’s personal, private dungeon. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy still being here when he comes for his pound of flesh.” 

“You see any way out?” 

Before Kelara could look around for one, Jarvia appeared. She strode up to them, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Whatever a canary was. “Good,” she purred. “You’re awake. Beraht will be glad to hear that.”

“Jarvia? What are you doing here?” Kelara had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer. Beraht wouldn’t send his partner to do anything routine.

“You caused a lot of trouble today. Beraht lost a  _ hundred sovereigns _ for Lord Vollney. The entire Proving was declared invalid, and the Assembly already called for an investigation. You can’t  _ imagine  _ the state Beraht was in when he told me to get you.” She sounded  _ amused _ . 

“Let me talk to Beraht,” Kelara pleaded, unable to stop the desperation in her voice. “I can explain what happened.” All of the arrogance she’d picked up during the Proving had fled. What had she been  _ thinking _ ?

“All he needs to know is that you exposed him before the entire Warrior Caste. Now they’re asking questions, and as long as you have tongues to answer them, you’re a threat. Enjoy your last night together. Sorry we had to put you in separate cells, or I’d suggest you have a last tumble.”  _ And a first _ , Kelara thought inappropriately. “Beraht’ll be by soon to make sure you maintain your silence.”

She trotted away, sending the guard back in behind her. He leaned against the wall near the door, clearly bored. That was good, at least. He wouldn’t notice them searching for an escape. 

Kelara began a careful examination of her cell, trying to think past the frantic pounding of her heart. Not much to work with, unsurprisingly. But… she pawed around the edges of the door and found some splinters of wood. Useless to her, but maybe not so useless to her partner in crime. She tossed them out of her cell and into Leske’s.

A moment later Leske’s cell door swung open. He crept up behind the guard, clapped one hand over his mouth, and smashed his head against the wall. The guard crumpled without a sound and Leske pulled the key to Kelara’s cell out of his pocket.

“Let’s find some weapons and get out of here,” he said as he let her out.

“We’re going to have to kill our way out,” she said grimly, already missing Everd’s armor as she pulled on the light armor that was more suitable for dusters.

Leske shuddered. “At least we’ll go down swinging.”

“And together.” It was sort of romantic. The things they put in stories. Though the heroes usually had a first and last kiss before it came to that. She didn’t have the nerve to suggest such a thing though.

“No one I’d rather be gutted with, salroka. Though, honestly, I’d rather just not be gutted.”

“Here’s to not being gutted then.”

They charged into the rest of the carta base.

Kelara went somewhere far away in her mind as they made their way through the tunnels. She couldn’t think about how she was killing people who were stuck in the same dead-end situation she was, who were doing this because they and their families needed to eat. She couldn’t think about how she knew some of them, about how some of them said her name in the split second before her mace came down for the last time, perhaps preparing to plead for their lives.

She had to live too. She had to protect Rica from Beraht’s wrath. Rica had spent most of her life protecting her, and Kelara had a lot of debt to make up for on that front. If she died here, Rica would be next. Kelara couldn’t allow that.

And Leske was at her side, and she couldn’t let him die either. So she had to get through all these people who probably didn’t really deserve what she was doing to them.

They burst through another door, blood dripping from her mace and Leske’s axe, and there was Beraht, laughing with some of his men. About Rica, and how good she  _ tasted _ . How everyone could get a turn, now that Beraht was cutting her loose because of what Kelara had done.

Kelara saw red. Even if Beraht had wanted to talk, she’d lost interest in saving her job.

Now it was Beraht’s turn to have his head cave in under her weapon. Teach him to threaten her sister.

Beraht sneered as he saw her coming, and the arrogance meant he barely brought his shield up in time to keep her from caving in his face with her first hit. Kelara thrust forward with her shield, barely feeling the reverberations up her arm at the impact.

Beraht was bigger than her, better experienced, and his equipment was better. But she was angry. And Beraht wasn’t prepared for her.

He threw her to the ground and she scrambled to her feet, barely dodging his next blow, which hit the stone and left a crack. A few feet away Leske was grappling with two of Beraht’s thugs. His odds were probably better than hers, honestly.

She swung her mace at Beraht’s knee and threw her shield up over her head as he brought his sword down. The metal rang in protest, seeming to buckle under the pressure, and Kelara jumped up, throwing him backwards and connecting her mace with his stomach. He stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise. Even knowing what she had done in the Proving Arena, he hadn’t thought her capable of holding her own in a real fight.

One of Leske’s thugs cried out and went to the ground. Beraht’s eyes flicked over to him, no doubt stunned that Leske had managed - had  _ dared  _ \- to do that much damage. Kelara took advantage of the distraction to hit him again. 

That fraction of a second of distraction was enough to shift the fight. She felt her mace shatter Beraht’s elbow and the sword fell uselessly to the ground. He threw his shield up, but without a weapon alongside it, it could only delay the inevitable. Kelara threw his shield back with her own and struck him across the face with her mace. _ Let’s see how you like it.  _ She struck again. Again. Beraht stopped twitching. 

She stood over him, panting, for a moment, until Leske cried out for help. She spun around and launched at the thug he was still dealing with, who had backed him into a corner. Two more hits from her, one from Leske, and it was over.

Leske staggered back to his feet and over to Beraht, staring at the ruined face of their former boss.

When he lifted his head again Leske’s face was the happiest she’d ever seen it. He leapt to her side, picked her up, spun her around, set her down again. “Did you see him there, all ‘when we’re done with you?’ And you just charged in and sodding slaughtered him! You have to be the luckiest duster in Orzammar. Beraht’s dead and we’re standing here! Hail to the sodding king!” He was laughing, eyes wide with exhilaration. 

Kelara smiled back, shier than it should have been. “We’re alive, and it sounds like he didn’t have time to get to Rica. We win.”

“Hey, speaking of Rica, could you tell her I killed him? I mean, it doesn’t do you any good if she thinks  _ you’re  _ the most virile warrior in all the Stone…”

Kelara’s heart dropped as fast as it had floated. “Let’s just get out of here before the guardsmen show up.”

“You said it,” Leske agreed, apparently oblivious to her disappointment. It was stupid to think this would have helped; Leske wasn’t into warriors. He liked soft, pretty girls. “Fortunately, if Beraht’s got them trained like he says, it should be a good long time before any guardsmen turn up here.”

The passageway led up to the back of Beraht’s shop. They left it cautiously - but not cautiously enough. The guards leapt for them almost immediately; they weren’t even off the doorstep. 

“Drop your weapons and walk down slowly,” one guard ordered. “We  _ will  _ use force if you resist.” Something in his tone said he wouldn’t mind if it came to that. 

“We just killed Beraht,” Kelara told them. Surely that had to be worth something?

The guard looked stunned, mouth dropping open and his sword lowering a few inches. “Beraht’s dead? He had many enemies, but… His allies won’t-“

Leske jumped to her defense. “Beraht would have butchered us if she hadn’t killed him first!” Not that anyone would have cared if a couple of brands had been murdered down in the tunnels. Especially not a brand who had defiled the Provings. 

Kelara realized the Grey Warden, Duncan, was among the guards as he stepped forward to speak. They got out of his way without him having to say a word. Rica was beside him, using his confidence to follow him through the crowd. “Your friend has once again demonstrated her courage,” Duncan said to Leske, before turning his attention to Kelara. “We Grey Wardens travel far and wide in search of those with the potential to join our ranks. It seems I have found one.”

Kelara stared at him, not quite daring to hope. “Are you… asking me to become a Grey Warden?”

“You have defeated a powerful criminal, and before that were very nearly made the champion of the Provings. Allow me to make my offer formal. I, Duncan of the Grey Wardens, extend the invitation for you to join our order.”

The guard protested, unsurprisingly. “This woman is wanted for treason. You can’t do this!”

Duncan was not intimidated. Indeed, he barely batted an eye. “I can and I am.” He was still looking at Kelara instead of the guard, as though  _ she  _ was the person to respect here. “It would mean traveling to the surface lands and thus leaving your people, but it does offer you the chance to strike a blow against the darkspawn and the Blight.”

“What’s the catch?” Nothing could be that simple. That fortunate. 

“I will not lie, it is a dangerous life. I can promise you no guarantee of safety. I can also give nothing in return for these hazards, save for the stipend Wardens receive for their service. In joining me, you leave all you know behind.”

“Can I… can I talk to my friend and my sister before I decide?” Kelara’s head was spinning. 

Duncan nodded agreement. “Take your time.” 

Leske grabbed her shoulder and turned her towards him almost immediately. “Did you take a hit to the head back there when I wasn’t looking? You’re not going to turn down being a Grey Warden, are you?”

“I don’t want to leave you and Rica here. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, don’t you worry about your sister. Ol’ Leske’ll take care of her,” he teased with a doofy grin.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Kelara replied, hoping she sounded like she was teasing right back. 

“She’d want you to go and you know it. And  _ I _ want you to go. Go get some proper dwarven glory for dusters everywhere, and get out of this cesspool. You’ll never get a better effort. 

She swallowed, painfully. “You’re right. I should go.” Her heart was racing.

“Well, then go back and tell him yes before he comes to his senses.”

Kelara hugged him, harder than she’d ever allowed herself to before. He hugged back just as fiercely, and it was such a shame that she was preparing to leave Orzammar and would never be able to work out if that meant anything special for either of them. 

She turned to Rica, slowing her breathing with considerable effort. 

“I couldn’t believe it when Ser Duncan said he wanted to recruit you. I was ready to kill you when I heard what you did at the Proving - but it worked out for the best.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” Their mother hardly counted as company. 

Rica smiled sadly. “Those are the rules of the order. All Wardens leave their families behind. Duncan told me when he told me that he wanted to recruit you.”

“But how will you take care of yourself?” She didn’t doubt that Leske would help if he could, but she didn’t know how he would even take care of himself. 

“Please don’t hold yourself back because of me. I think - for the first time - that Mother and I will be fine. I spent the afternoon with my new patron. If everything works out… maybe I can even greet you as an equal if you return.”

_ When, _ Kelara thought with determination. She would not simply walk away from her sister forever, no matter what the Wardens offered. “Who is this patron?”  _ And how does he treat you?  _ Rica didn’t need a patron anymore, Beraht couldn’t threaten her ever again. 

“I’m still afraid to jinx it. But he’s very sweet. He calls me his ‘amber rose’. And he has already promised to move Mother and me into better lodging, where he can find me more quickly when he wants me.”

That was something, Kelara supposed. “And you’ll be happy like this? With him?”

“I am. Truly. I could never make a life fighting darkspawn. But if I can bear a son who makes his house proud, that’s all I can ask. Now, go. Tell Duncan you’re ready to be something more than a whore’s little sister.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that.”

Rica smiled sadly again and hugged her. “Good luck.”

Kelara returned to Duncan, who was waiting patiently. “I am ready to join you.” She was half-braced for him to laugh, to say it had been a joke, and let the guards clap her in irons after all. 

“Then before these witnesses, I hereby recruit you into the Grey Wardens. Know that you are most welcome.”

Kelara didn’t think she’d ever been welcome anywhere before. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her head was spinning, making her dizzy. 

“We will spend a few more days in the palace,” Duncan said, “until the king is ready to lead the expedition into the Deep Roads. You’ll stay in our quarters with us until then.”

Leske laughed, obviously stunned. “The sodding  _ palace _ . You really are moving up in the world.” 

“You can’t have a casteless in the palace!” the guard protested. “The king would never stand for it!” 

Duncan looked at him coolly. “She is a Grey Warden recruit, and therefore will be given all the benefits of the order. The Grey Wardens do not care for the origins of their members, and neither do their allies.” It was a statement, and there was a fanged threat beneath it. 

The guards slunk away with their tails between their legs, not even trying to arrest Leske. Maybe they assumed Duncan would protect him as well. Kelara didn’t know if he would have, but  _ she _ would have, so it was for the best that they gave up. 

Rica and Leske turned back to Dust Town, and Kelara followed Duncan through the Commons to the massive doors that led up to the Diamond Quarter. She stared at them and reality began to sink in as they opened before her, the guards not even daring to sneer at her with the Warden standing beside her. It was as though Duncan’s recruitment had scrubbed clean the brand across her face that she had carried all her life. 


End file.
